


Comment tu t'appelles? Ca va?

by Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: 1970s, College AU, F/M, French 101 is a bitch, M/M, Marvin is in so much denial, Slow Burn, tutoring au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar/pseuds/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar
Summary: At some point in the semester, he was was sure he asked the boy for his name in French. Marvin probably didn’t listen for the response. But the boy’s name was Whizzer, and that was a weird name Marvin didn’t believe he had tuned out.He was about to make it down the stairs when he was stopped by a loud, echoing: “Marvin! Wait!”He turned around. Whizzer jogged towards him and shoved his test at Marvin.“Please tutor me.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a college au!! Yay!!

Marvin didn’t really talk to the students that sat around him in class. As a junior, he already had his friends, and he didn’t want to spend time in his only 100 level class of the year talking to kids. 

But there was one boy. He was a sophomore--about to turn 20 Marvin learned when they had to turn to their neighbor to ask  _ tu as quel âge?-- _ and didn’t seem to care that much about the class. Of course, no one did. No one took French 101 and cared. They were there for the foreign language credit they could get with a C. Most monotonously recited the words and phrases their professor read from a book and occasionally jotted down notes of conjugations and new vocabulary. The boy was one of the few that didn’t care enough to even try. He doodled in his notebook and sat as bored as could be with his chin resting in his hand. 

Marvin had complimented him on his doodles one day after class. They were impressive. His page was full of caricatures of the professor and other students in the class. There were some of people Marvin couldn’t recognize and assumed they were his friends. 

The boy looked at him like a deer in headlights. He had such a babyface. If it wasn’t for the fact that he towered over Marvin, he would look like a high school kid visiting campus. 

“Thanks,” the boy said before throwing his bag over his shoulder and hurrying out of the room. 

The next day Marvin looked at his homework before they turned it in. At some point in the semester, he was was sure he asked the boy for his name in French. Eager to get the collaboration part of class done, Marvin probably didn’t listen for the response. But the boy’s name was Whizzer, and was a weird name Marvin didn’t believe he had tuned out. 

At the end of class, Marvin looked at his new sheet of doodles. The same faces appeared with a few new ones. Marvin was in the top right-hand corner. Whizzer looked at him and smirked before snapping his notebook shut and walking out of the room. 

Marvin became more interested in Whizzer’s habits. Every day he came to class dressed up in a trendy outfit with his hair wonderfully styled. Marvin wondered how many clothes he had. He never seemed to wear the same thing twice. It beat the pair of jeans and sweatshirt Marvin had been wearing for a few days straight. In his defense, the sweatshirt had his university logo on it. He could pass as someone who had school spirit.

It was surprising that Whizzer always looked nice for the class he never paid attention in. It was also surprising that he turned in homework all the time. Marvin didn’t think it was his place to look at other people’s grades, but he did peek at the homework when it was passed back. Whizzer never did too shabby. But then, the homework was easy with the textbook.

Their conversations started when Whizzer hissed one day: “Don’t move!”

Marvin turned his head to see Whizzer drawing him in a more realistic style. Whizzer looked at him impatiently until Marvin resumed his position. The final portrait came out looking nice. It took up a quarter of the page, perfectly capturing Marvin’s boredom. 

“So what major are you?” 

Whizzer packed up his notebook and pencils. “Art.”

Marvin nodded. He had suspected such but wasn’t positive if the school even had an art program. 

“What about you?” Whizzer asked. 

“Business.”

“Gross.”

Marvin shrugged. “I think it’s interesting.”

“That’s too many numbers. How can you sit around doing math all day?”

They grabbed their bags and walked out of the room together. Usually, Marvin would walk out as quickly as possible to get back to his dorm so he could nap. 

“It’s not just math,” Marvin said. “There’s a lot of things to do and things to consider. You have to look at employee wages and profit and--”

“And math.”

“It’s not so bad. Once you do math for something else, it’s not so tedious as just sitting in class solving for x.”

“All I know is that I took math 121 last semester, and I nearly killed myself with my calculator.”

“Beautiful suicide.”

They pushed open the doors of the building. It was a bit bitter and grey outside. Winter was right around the corner, and Marvin dreaded the snow and ice on campus. 

“Admit it, you’re only in business for the money.”

The comment caught Marvin off guard. Whizzer smirked at him. 

“No. I’m not really. I actually do think it’s interesting.”

“Bullshit.” Whizzer ran a hand through his hair. “I’m headed this way. See you Thursday.”

Marvin didn’t respond. Whizzer took a different direction, and he kept going straight. When he got to his dorm, he threw his bag on his desk chair and fell onto his bed. He had a couple hours before his roommate would come back, and that would be a two hour nap. 

“Your naps should only be about half an hour. Two hours is too long,” Mendel would always tell him. 

Marvin would grab the closest thing and throw it at him. 

His two hour nap was cut short that day due to a half hour devoted to thinking about Whizzer before he could fall asleep.    


* * *

 

Marvin was fairly certain that Whizzer was gay. Some men--very, very brave men--had no problem hiding it. Marvin spent a couple days eyeing Whizzer and taking mental notes. Not that he cared. It didn’t matter to him. It wasn’t his business really. He was just curious. 

His first piece of evidence was Whizzer’s grooming. Only gay men paid so much attention to their hair and cuticles. There was nothing messy about Whizzer. The only exception was the pencil lead that rubbed off on his hands when he doodled. His shirts were wrinkle-free. It must have been a challenge. Most of Marvin’s were beyond saving after sitting balled up in his drawers for weeks. 

There was also the way that Whizzer held himself. He would cross his legs when he sat, knee over knee. 

His movements were very flowy. He took such care when he sat down and stood up and walked out of the room. His arms swung loosely at his sides, and his chin was held high. It was like he was performing some dance choreographed the night before. 

The final and most important factor Marvin noticed was the penises he drew in his notebook. 

Whizzer caught him staring one class and smirked his smug little smirk. It made him look so cocky. 

“I have to work on my figure drawings,” he said. “I’m fine at drawing pussy, but my dicks come out a little unproportional.”

It usually took a lot to get Marvin speechless and flustered. But the page of penises were way too explicit for a drawing class. Marvin looked away, trying to put all of his focus on the professor as Whizzer snickered. The boy was too much and was  _ definitely _ gay.

But Marvin didn’t care.    


* * *

 

“What did you get?” Whizzer asked. 

He leaned over his desk, trying to look at Marvin’s test. 

“94,” Marvin said, showing him the red numbers written at the top of his paper. 

Whizzer sighed and sat back. His eyebrows were raised in worry. Marvin shoved his test in his bag. If Whizzer was struggling to pass the tests this late in the semester, it was his own fault.

When Whizzer was handed back his test, he groaned and threw his head back. Marvin didn’t wait to watch the rest of his breakdown. He got up and mumbled a bye to Whizzer and an  _ au revoir _ to his professor as he passed her. He was about to make it down the stairs when he was stopped by a loud, echoing: “Marvin! Wait!”

He turned around. Whizzer jogged towards him and shoved his test at Marvin.

“Please tutor me.”

Marvin grabbed the test and flipped through it, looking through at the corrections in the professor’s handwriting that filled every page. 

“You’re doing great on these tests and I--I can’t fail the class.”

Whizzer seemed to struggle the simplest grammar and spelling. Marvin didn’t really want to help him. All Whizzer would need to do was buckle down and study harder. 

“You’re doing great. Come on. I know you’re not mean and cold all the way through.”

Whizzer was looking at him like some sad puppy. His big, brown eyes didn’t help. Marvin sighed. He  _ really  _ didn’t want to waste his time tutoring.

“Fine. Meet me in the library tomorrow at five. We’ll work for an hour.”

“Can it be longer for an hour?”

“Do you really need longer than an hour?”

Whizzer shrugged and looked down, kicking the floor in what Marvin could tell was an attempt to be cute. “I mean… I  _ guess _ not.”

“We’ll do an hour tomorrow and see how much you actually get done.”

Whizzer smiled. 

“Tomorrow at five.”

“Thanks. You’re a peach, Marv.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Whizzer was already bouncing down the stairs, turning back to only wink.   


* * *

 

Marvin had expected Whizzer to be late. When he walked in the front doors of the library, though, Whizzer was already sitting at a table with his french book laid out in front of him. 

“Where should we start?” Marvin asked, setting his bag down and taking a seat across from Whizzer. 

“Umm…” Whizzer opened the cover of his book and turned past the table of contents. “Chapter 1?”

Marvin rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to teach you the first half of the semester.”

“Fine. Uh, let’s just starts with verbs.” 

Marvin grabbed the book and found a page with a few verb conjugations. He slid back to Whizzer. 

“Write those out a couple times.”

“What?”

Marvin opened his bag, pulling out another textbook and notebook. “Write them out. It’s the only way you’ll remember them.”

“How many times?”

“Until your hand cramps.”

“Marvin--”

“You didn’t work in the beginning of the semester, you have to make up for it now. What are you doing anyways? Struggling in a 100 level class as a second year?”

Whizzer glared but opened his notebook to a blank page. 

For a while, Marvin was only focused on his economics homework. He highlighted lines in his textbook and scribbled in the margins while answering the assigned questions. He figured giving Whizzer busywork would keep him occupied for most of the time. It took him a couple minutes before he noticed Whizzer was staring at him. 

“My hand cramped,” he said, bored with chin in hand. 

Marvin grabbed his notebook, relieved that there were no drawings of dicks on it. Whizzer’s loopy handwriting instead covered the page. 

“What are the conjugations of  étre?”

“Je suis, tu es, il est, nous… uh…”

His eyes glossed over with a blank stare. Marvin tossed his notebook in front of him. He was starting to lose his temper. 

“Take this seriously. Keep writing and actually pay attention.”

Whizzer rolled his eyes. “You’re grouchy.”

Marvin scoffed. “Oh, forgive me for being upset that I’m tutoring a child who wouldn’t be failing if he had just did what he was supposed to from the beginning.”

“Hey, French is hard.”

“It’s French 101. How hard can it be?”

Whizzer grabbed his pencil and turned to a clean sheet of paper. Marvin could feel his face heating. He had no patience. Ever. He shouldn’t have agreed to tutor. He should have just told Whizzer to find someone at the academic center. 

He managed to lose himself in his homework again until Whizzer’s notebook was plopped down on top of his work. Whizzer crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. 

“Être: Je suis, tu es, il est, nous sommes, vous êtes, ils sont. Avoir: J’ai, tu as, il a, nous avons, vous avez, ils ont.”

Marvin scowled. It was all right. 

“Good. What do you want to do next?”   


* * *

 

Whizzer slammed his test down on Marvin’s desk the second after he was handed it. 

“A B!” 

Marvin hummed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good job.”

“Thank you very much.” Whizzer took his test back and stuck it in his bag. “And thanks for, y’know, tutoring me these past couple weeks.”

“It’s not a problem. Think you’ll need it anymore with that B?”

“I’m going to need a lot more Bs and even some As to bring my grade up from here.”

Marvin wasn’t too pleased. He enjoyed Whizzer’s company, but he also didn’t like being stuck in the library for an hour three nights a week. Though, it was nice when they got off topic and joked around. Whizzer was pretty cool. Marvin would never admit it, but he did have some fondness for the kid. 

“Fine. But we have to meet somewhere other than the library.”

“Cool. Where?”

“The campus cafe.”

Whizzer nodded. “Deal. I’ll see you there at five tomorrow.”

He grabbed his bag and left with the same cocky air. 

The professor handed back Marvin’s test back. A low A. Pretty good. He shoved it in his bag and walked out. Snow was starting to fall, and Marvin tugged his hood up. As long as ice didn’t coat the sidewalks overnight and make his 8 am the next morning nearly fatal, he’d be fine for the time being. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started the walk back to his room. 

His mind went to Whizzer. A B was a drastic change from an F. All Whizzer had to do was study more. He’d be screwed if that professor had given a midterm a month back but luck seemed to be on his side that semester. And he was also lucky Marvin took pity and helped him find some discipline. But, he also crammed half a semester’s worth of French in a couple weeks to get that B. It probably took a lot of work outside of tutoring sessions as well as a lot of work during. He was a bit proud of Whizzer. 

Proud? 

No. No, Marvin didn’t feel  _ proud _ . He was impressed. Pride was something he reserved for few people--one of them being himself. 

Marvin’s frozen fingers fumbled for his key. He pushed it in the lock and swung the door open, ready to crawl under his warm sheets for a nap. 

“Hi, sweetie!”

Trina sat on his bed, smiling at him. Her long skirt hid her crossed legs, and her matching green sweater was pulled over her hands. Mendel sat at his desk, a book open but neglected in favor of conversation. 

“It’s cold,” Marvin said. 

He dropped his bag to the floor and toed his shoes off.

“It’s October,” Mendel said. “It’s supposed to be cold.”

Marvin took off his hoodie and threw it on the floor. Trina would pick it up later and put it in the hamper. 

“You wouldn’t be so cold if you wore an actual coat,” Trina said, opening her arms to him. 

Marvin crawled onto the bed, pulling Trina down so that she was laying down with him. Marvin was a little suspicious about Mendel’s friendship with Trina, so he made sure to spoon her extra tight. 

“Why are you both here?” he mumbled. 

“Our class was cancelled,” Trina said. She stroked his hand, wrapped around her waist. “Sorry if we’re going to interrupt your nap.”

“Nap with me.”

“I have things to do.”

Marvin whined. He liked having Trina close to him. She smelled good and was nice to hold. Sometimes she played with his hair when he was falling asleep. He didn’t want to give up any of those because she had “things.” 

“I’ll stay for a little bit,” she said, turning around. 

She ran her fingers through his hair. He smiled and closed his eyes. 

“But not for your full two hour nap,” she added. 

“Fair enough.”

“Don’t you have to tutor that boy tonight?” Mendel asked. 

Of course Mendel would try ruining his nap. He and Mendel requested each other as roommates because there was always a chance that Marvin would kill someone he had to live with. Mendel was the only man Marvin had yet to feel any disdain towards. They were friends, and Mendel had a way with Marvin that kept him calm. But there were always exceptions and that exception was when Marvin was trying to nap.

“We don’t meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Marvin said. 

“You’re tutoring someone?” Trina asked, a little trill in her voice at the hope that Marvin wasn’t a total sociopath and could help someone else. 

“A kid in my French class.”

“That’s so sweet,” Trina said. She kissed his forehead. 

“He’s an idiot, though.”

“Marv.”

“It’s French 101. Why should it be this hard?” 

“Some people are good at different things. Not everyone can be as smart as you want them to be.”

Marvin thought about that. Sure, Whizzer was a great artist. He was amazing. Marvin was never so talented. He was always more interested in numbers and didn’t put much time into childhood artistic endeavours.

Whizzer was probably smart under all that cocky, hair-obsessed, stubborness. He had a lot of things going for him even if he wasn’t that book smart. He was handsome--more handsome than the average 19 year old boy. And he was funny. He was actually someone Marvin could maybe call a friend eventually. He imagined Whizzer, with whatever man he would find, would make a good housewife. Gay men could be housewives, Marvin was pretty sure. There had to be someone there to cook and clean. 

Marvin hoped Whizzer would find someone nice. Someone who could keep him safe. There were stories Marvin had heard that made his stomach churn. Sometimes things happened to gay men, and despite being over six feet tall Whizzer didn’t seem the type to be able to defend himself. Especially not in the way he… flaunted it. Not that Marvin had a problem with that. He didn’t care. Whizzer could be into whatever, and Marvin’s feelings wouldn’t change. But other people had problems with it, and that worried Marvin just the slightest. He never knew a gay person before. Or he at least was never aware that he knew a gay person before. He just knew it was dangerous out there for them. There were hate crimes, and gay people were becoming more confident. They had every right to be confident, Marvin thought. With the Stonewall Riots from years before, there were more reasons to be proud. Marvin could stand behind that. 

Trina’s hand kept running through his hair. Marvin kept thinking about Whizzer. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Club with the gay kidz

Whizzer tapped his pencil against his notebook. He watched Marvin raise his cardboard cup of coffee up to his mouth. Marvin’s tongue darted out to lick the lingering coffee off his lips. Whizzer smirked. It was the little things that Marvin did that made Whizzer dedicated to studying. 

“How much coffee do you drink every day?”  

Marvin looked up. His eyes were wide, like the question took him off guard. Or like the caffeine was hitting him all at once. His eyes were beautiful, though. A nice pale shade of blue, and they were flatteringly big. Not quite buggish but bigger than average eyes. They would be the selling point for whoever found Marvin.

“Not a lot,” Marvin said. “Just a few cups.”

“That’s too much. How long have you been drinking it?”

“Since high school. Maybe sophomore year--”

“That’s why you’re so short!”

Marvin frowned. “I’m not short.”

“You would probably be taller if you didn’t stunt your growth at 15. But regardless, you’re drinking too much coffee. You should switch to tea.”

“Tea?”

“Yeah. Or your heart is going to give out on you at 36. It’ll also make you look less… serious.”

“I like looking serious.”

Whizzer groaned. “I swear business majors are all the same. You wear drab clothes, always want to be treated like actual adults, and have a caffeine addiction.”

Marvin glared. He had such a short temper, and Whizzer knew exactly how to get to the end of the fuse. It was a bit exciting to see Marvin so angry. 

“All I’m saying,” Whizzer said, “is that you’re only 21. You still got some time left in college, and you got the rest of your life to be serious. Why try being so serious now? Have some fun.”

“I do have fun.”

“Uh-huh. What’s fun for you? Binge drinking and voting republican?”

“First off, I voted for McGovern. Not Nixon.”

“You’re a true saint. Nixon’s gonna get impeached anyways.”

“He is not. It’s all talk.”

“You never know. All of this shit’s so fucked up.”

“Politics is always fucked up.”

“There was an 18 minute gap in those tapes.”

“I know. And our vice president was charged with tax evasion. Politicians are crooked. It’s not shocking news.” Marvin shook his head. “We’re getting off topic. I have fun like other college kids. Just maybe not… some of them.”

Whizzer pretended like he didn’t notice Marvin obviously looking him up and down as though implying his fun was something unorthodox. It was. But Marvin shouldn’t have judged.

“Do you go to parties?” Whizzer asked. 

“Yes.”

“Do you drink there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you dance?”

“No.”

“Do you have sex?”

Marvin picked up his pencil and started writing in his notebook. “With my girlfriend, yes.”

Whizzer hummed. He didn’t know that Marvin had a girlfriend. The poor thing was further in the closet than he thought. His task of making Marvin realize he was gay was going to take a lot longer than the rest of the semester. It would his most exciting project yet. 

“Do you listen to music?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

Marvin sighed. “How far do you want to investigate into my life? Do you want to look through my albums? See if you approve?”

Whizzer smiled.

* * *

 

“Do you think Paul McCartney plucks his eyebrows?” 

Whizzer laid upside on Marvin’s bed, closely examining the album cover. Marvin sat on the floor, cigarette between his fingers and tapping ash into the tray by his feet. 

“He says he doesn’t.”

“A lot of men say that. It doesn’t mean it’s true.” Whizzer rolled onto his stomach. “I’d kill for my eyebrows to look like that naturally. I’ve spent hours trying to get a good arch, and his are just so… perfect. And apparently he doesn’t even need to try. He doesn’t need to try to look good at all.”

“You know, people are starting to get over Paul McCartney now.”

Whizzer scoffed. “Maybe  _ some  _ people are. But the rest of us still have pictures of his moptop days--which, don’t get me wrong was a terrible haircut. But it looked good on him.”

“He’s getting older--”

“He’s fine! He’s barely 30.” Whizzer sat the sleeve on the floor. “I’d fight Linda.”

Marvin shook his head. “What’s your opinion on John?”

“I bet he was your favorite.” Whizzer smirked and rested his chin in his hand. “He’s violent and angry.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s kinda sexy.”

“You’re insane.”

“No. You don’t get it. I love men who fight.”

“Fight with you?”

“If it’s passionate.”

Marvin took a drag on his cigarette. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble some day.”

Whizzer knew he was. He had already escaped trouble many times. Just barely. It was thrilling. He loved the rush of adrenaline, and he loved when anger turned into something more. Marvin just didn’t understand how fighting could lead to grabbing. Kissing. Bed.

He studied Marvin, watching him lift his cigarette to his lips and exhaling with delicacy. His fingers twitched, and ash fell onto his sneakers and the floor.

“What kind of girls do you like?” 

Marvin looked at him and shrugged. “I guess… pretty girls.”

“Wow. You’re not shallow at all.”

Marvin huffed. “Smart girls? I don’t know. I just like some girls when I meet them. I don’t really have a type.”

Whizzer clicked his tongue. He had heard that from a lot of men before they went back to his room. 

“What’s your girlfriend like?” 

“She’s smart. And sweet. She’s  _ very  _ sweet. And I… I don’t know. I want to make her happy.”

“That’s cute.”

“It’s hard.”

“Do you two fight?” 

“Of course. All couples fight.”

“That’s debatable.”

Marvin pressed his cigarette into the ashtray. Whizzer noticed his frown and tense shoulders. He could imagine Marvin’s girlfriend: pretty, one of the best students in her classes, always accepting challenges (she had to like them if she was dating Marvin), tough, and way too good for him yet not good enough. Marvin, Whizzer knew, would need someone who would complement him and not just take care of him. He needed someone who would let him fight and argue and have his little tantrums. Marvin was the type of guy who would never outgrow his terrible twos, and Whizzer hoped that his girlfriend at least knew how to put him in timeout. 

“I know a couple that never fights,” Whizzer said. 

Marvin hummed. 

“Cordelia and Charlotte,” Whizzer went on. “They live down the hall from me. They never fight, and they’re happy.”

“Lesbians?”

“Have a problem with that?”

“No. I don’t have a problem with you, do I?”

“You know, I never actually told you. You just assumed, and that’s rude.”

Marvin crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. Are you not queer?” 

“No, I am. I’m just saying it’s rude to assume. I didn’t assume you were straight.”

Marvin’s face turned a subtle shade of red. He didn’t look like a deer in headlights, but rather a startled deer ready to kick.

“Why not?”

“Don’t get so defensive. It’s not anything about you. I just don’t assume.”

“Maybe assuming isn’t so bad. How do you know if a man is gay or not? Do you just come on to everyone you like?”

“And get beat up? No way. I don’t know if you know this, but there  _ are  _ gay bars in this city. I don’t have to assume anything there because I know.”

“What if there’s straight people there?” 

“Why would a straight person come to a gay bar? Would you go?”

Marvin was quiet; opening his mouth only to say nothing. Whizzer sat up, beaming. 

“You want to go, don’t you?” 

Marvin shrugged. He looked fairly small, curling up on himself. Whizzer found it adorable. 

“I’ll take you this weekend!” Whizzer said. “You can meet Cordelia and Charlotte, too. We can all go together.”

“Wait a minute--”

“You don’t need to tell your girlfriend. Just say you’re going out with some people you met.”

“She’ll be suspicious.”

“Why? Tell her it’s a man’s night out or whatever. Trust me, Charlotte is more of a man than both of us put together. I love her, and you will, too.”

“But--”

“You have no excuse to not go. Besides, you and Charlotte can buy the drinks for us minors.”

“So only two of us are going to be legally allowed to drink?” 

“I know it’s lame to hang out with sophomores who can’t drink and shit, but if Charlotte is a junior, and if she’s okay with it then you should be, too. She buys me all of my drinks. Besides, if she can date and live with a sophomore, you can spend one evening with us at a bar. Come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud. You’ll have fun for once in your life.”

“I never said I wouldn’t go!”

“Just give me an answer!”

“Fine!”

“Fine you’ll give me an answer or fine you’ll go?”

“I’ll go!”

Whizzer bounced on his knees. There was no way that Marvin would spend the night with three queer people in a gay bar, getting drunk (maybe high if Whizzer saw the freshman in his illustration class before the weekend), and go home thinking he was still straight. Whizzer would be made a saint if he could get a man in bed with Marvin that night. The Catholic church would be so amazed, they would forget all that silly shit God said about gay couples and the fact that Whizzer was only Catholic on his mother’s side. The pope himself would denounce the homophobia of the church while riding around the Vatican on a unicorn that shat rainbows. Everyone would forget Mother Teresa in favor of Whizzer, patron saint of self-closeted men. 

“We’ll meet at my room at 10 Friday night.”

Marvin didn’t look at him. Whizzer knew the first stage of coming out was denial, and he was more than willing to help Marvin through it.

* * *

 

10 p.m came sooner than Whizzer expected. By the time he got out of class, finished his short shift at the bookstore, shoved a muffin in his mouth, showered, moisturized, and dressed, it was already 9. 

Cordelia laid on his bed, dressed in her cutest outfit. She flipped through his sketchbook as he struggled to style his hair. 

“Is this the guy we’re going with tonight?” she asked, turning the page of a pencil portrait to Whizzer. 

“Yeah,” he said. “But that’s shit. It looks nothing like him. I had to do it from memory, and I got his face all wrong.”

Cordelia smiled. “He looks cute.”

“Not really my type, but someone will appreciate those eyes.”

“If he’s not your type than why are you drawing him?”

“I was just thinking about him, and I can only draw your pretty face so many times.”

“Oh, I’m blushing. But come on, you have to think he’s a  _ little _ cute or else you wouldn’t be doing all of this.”

“I’m just doing another gay man a favor.”

“What if he’s not even gay?”

“I’ve never been wrong before. Don’t insult me.” 

He had thought before that maybe Marvin wasn’t gay. But Whizzer had done a deep analysis. Marvin was too awkward when they brought up anything gay, and he was too liberal to be homophobic enough to avoid conversation. Yet, he was even fairly passionate about gay rights. He had kept up with the riots in 1969, he was well-read in Baldwin and Wilde, and he had watched  _ Cabaret _ . More than once. To others, he came off as an intelligent, well-rounded, and sympathetic individual. But Whizzer knew better.

“Don’t you feel a little guilty, though?”

Whizzer turned to Cordelia, still working a comb through his hair. 

“About what?” he asked. 

“About… forcing this guy into coming out?”

“I’m not forcing him to come out. I’m just helping him come to terms with his sexuality. He’ll be much happier.”

“What if he’s not ready?”

“He doesn’t have to admit it to anyone but himself.”

“How do you know he hasn’t done that yet?”

“Because he’s still with his girlfriend.”

“Maybe he actually loves her!”

“He’s queer!”

“So? Maybe he’s bi.”

Whizzer’s arms dropped to his side. Bisexual. Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was totally an option. His brain was full of static like a radio stuck between two stations. 

There was a knock at the door. Cordelia sat up and reached over the footboard to turn the doorknob. 

“Hi! You must be Marvin!”

* * *

 

Whizzer stared. There in the doorway, with his cheeks flushed from the cold and a sheepish smile on his lips, stood Marvin. Possibly bisexual Marvin. 

Saint Whizzer would have to prepare to be demoted.

The lights of the club that night were tinted-blue. They looked amazing shining off Whizzer’s white shirt. It wasn’t too busy, either, which pleased him. If the club was crowded, Marvin would be skittish like everyone else their first time in a gay bar. But Marvin was relaxed, looking around at the decent crowd scattered around the bar and dance floor. 

“Can you get me another drink?”

Whizzer usually got he wanted. All he ever had to do was pout his lips and show off his big eyes. No one ever said no to him after that. It would be like kicking a puppy (a puppy with amazing hair). 

“No.”

His shoulders fell. He couldn’t believe Marvin was kicking the proverbial puppy. 

“Why not?”

“You’ve had enough already.”

“It’s not like I’m a lightweight.”

“You kind of are, dear.”

Whizzer blinked, startled by that term.  _ Dear _ . Who did Marvin think he was talking to? Was the affection around him starting to wear off on him?

“I’d watch it with that word. What if your girlfriend found out you were calling other men ‘dear?’”

“I’ve called other people ‘dear’ before. It’s sarcastic.”

“Oh.”

Marvin huffed a little laugh. Whizzer looked at his lap. It was like two rounds of rejection. First, no drink. Second, a term of endearment was manipulated to be condescending. 

Whizzer jumped when he felt warm lips pressed to his cheek. Cordelia stood over him like an angel, two margaritas in her hands. 

“Is one of those for me?”

She nodded and sat one down in front of him and took her seat. Charlotte came up behind her with a beer. 

“Thank you,” Whizzer said, eyeing Marvin as he took a sip. 

“He’s gonna get sick,” Marvin said, looking to Charlotte. 

“That’s his problem.” She leaned over the table and took Marvin’s hand. “Our job as the legals is to provide, not to babysit.”

“I’d just rather not see him puke.”

“I’m good at making it to bathrooms, thank you very much,” Whizzer said.

How dare Marvin try babying him. He was doing Marvin a  _ favor _ . He was going to get Marvin to open up to himself and let all of the queer suppression go--whether he was bi or gay. Marvin would be thanking him within a year when he was happy and not grouchy all the time. 

“You have lipstick on you,” Cordelia said. 

She used her thumb to wipe off her own lipstick that had stuck to Whizzer’s cheek. It was mildly maternal. Most of Cordelia’s actions to him were. She always made sure he was eating and sleeping. She kissed him and fixed his hair every day. Actually, Charlotte did a lot of those things too. 

“Oh my God, I’m the baby of the group.”

“What?”

“You’ve made me the baby.”

Cordelia smiled. “You’ve always been a baby. You’re so cute and… I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“You’re like a baby deer. You can’t really support yourself. You can’t even get your own drinks.”

“I can!”

“You do look a bit like Bambi,” Marvin chimed in.

And Whizzer did  _ not  _ need that. He was doing that man a  _ favor _ . 

“I can prove that I’m an adult.” Whizzer got to his feet, and the sudden dizziness showed him how drunk he was. “I can get my own drinks.”

“Where are you going?” Charlotte asked, a bit of worry working its way into her voice. 

Whizzer looked around. “To him…”

He grabbed his drink and walked to the man leaning against the bar with two other. 

“Hey,” he said. 

He didn’t really have a plan. It wasn’t his normal habit to pick up guys at bars. He did it on occasion, but he was always nervous about taking the guy back to campus. Once he finished school and had his own place, he was going to take more guys home. Until then, he would settle for sloppy making out in bathrooms and dancing. 

“Hey.”

The guy was fairly attractive. His hair was blonde and lacked a new style for the new decade. He looked a bit like Illya Kuryakin, which Whizzer didn’t mind. It might have been about out-of-date, but he pulled it off. Besides, Whizzer remembered many good nights watching  _ The Man from U.N.C.L.E.  _ He turned away from his friends, who rolled their eyes. 

“You’re not here with anyone, are you?” Whizzer asked. 

“Just some friends.”

The guy smiled. He had  _ great _ teeth. 

“Good. I’m Whizzer.”

“I’m Paul.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“So is Whizzer.”

“Do you want to buy me a drink?” 

Whizzer washed the black X off his hand a long time ago. It had left a red mark, but no one had noticed in the dim lighting. 

“You look like you already got one,” Paul said, eyeing the margarita. 

Whizzer set it down on the bar. “Not anymore.”

“Mm… my friends and I were actually about to do some shots if you’re interested. This round’s on me.”

“I’d love to join you.”

Whizzer wasn’t positive if he could handle a shot. The longer he stood, the more he realized that he had drank  _ way  _ more than he thought and he probably didn’t eat as much as he should’ve. But he was an adult. And adults did shots. And he was confused what he was trying to prove anymore. 

He didn’t listen to what Paul ordered, nor did he pay attention when the bartender filled their glasses. 

“Do you go to school in town?” Whizzer asked. 

“Yeah. Sage.”

“Ooh. I go to Albany.”

“Nice.”

Paul didn’t seem too interested in conversation since the drinks were lined up. Whizzer tried not to mind. He could be needy afterwards. 

Whizzer held his glass as one Paul’s friends counted down. He wasn’t a fan of shots. He liked to take his time getting drunk on better tasting alcohol. But he threw back the drink with the rest of them, grimacing as it hit his stomach. He wasn’t a fan of Vodka. Not since a rough night after finals freshmen year. 

His stomach burned, and at first he thought it felt no different from the other times he drank vodka. But then his stomach was churning, and his mouth was watering, and he was looking around for the bathroom. To save his dignity, he tried not to run. If his brisk walk turned into a jog, he didn’t acknowledge it. 

There were a few other men in the bathroom. Whizzer didn’t pay attention to them and ran into the first empty stall. His knees were wet from whatever was on the floor. He would worry about it later. 

He retched into the bowl. His throat and nose stung, and the acidic taste made him want to vomit again. His head spun too much to pull himself up. He could only lay against the toilet, praying it had been cleaned recently. 

On top of feeling physically like shit, Whizzer felt like an idiot. It really wasn’t his night. He ran away from an attractive guy, and he had made an idiot of himself in front of his friends and Marvin. And fuck. Marvin was the only reason he was there. He probably wouldn’t have gone out and gotten plastered if he wasn’t trying to prove to Marvin that Marvin was queer. But now he wasn’t even sure if Marvin was still hiding it from himself. What was he even hoping to see from Marvin? Did he want him to break up with his girlfriend? Did he want him to come out to everyone? What was his plan? He had had known what he wanted to see from Marvin when he was sober and before he considered he was possibly bi. 

Whizzer was being lifted up by his arms, and for a minute he had hoped it was Paul coming to his rescue. That was all Whizzer wanted in that bathroom. A knight in shining armor to save him and his pride. 

“Come on.”

It was Marvin. 

Whizzer was dragged out of the stall and to the sinks. The other guys were gone, probably scared off by Whizzer’s vomiting. 

“God, you’re a mess.”

Whizzer had never been a mess before. He was always put together. He was fashionable and clean and always smelled  _ really, really _ nice. 

Marvin had propped him up against the sinks and soaked a wet paper towel to wipe Whizzer’s face. Whizzer didn’t want to look in the mirror. He could only imagine how messy his hair was, how pale his cheeks were, and he could already see the vomit from his mouth come off on Marvin’s towel. 

The whole thing was embarrassing. Whizzer’s eyes stung, and he tried blinking away the tears that were starting to blur his vision. 

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m a sad drunk.”

Marvin sighed. He didn’t look annoyed at least. He grabbed more paper towels and held them under the running tap. 

“We’ve all puked in the bathroom of some club before.”

Marvin held the towels to the back of his neck. It felt nice. He was hot from the crowd and the drinks. 

“Tell me when you’re feeling better. Charlotte and Cordelia are getting a cab.”

Whizzer nodded. He wanted to get out of the club and never see Paul or his friends again. He wanted to go back to his dorm and get in bed and sleep through the next day. 

“I’m ready,” he mumbled. 

Marvin took one last swipe at his face, clearing off the tears. 

It was another motherly action. It felt weird coming from Marvin. He didn’t seem the type to have a strong instinct to take care of anyone. His touches were soft and maybe more frequent than necessary. It would have been well-coupled with a whisper of,  _ “You’ll be okay.” _


	3. Chapter 3

Marvin didn’t think that he would actually befriend Whizzer. The first time he described Whizzer as a friend, he was just as surprised as Trina. He was telling her about his plans for the evening, and it just slipped out. He could see the words leaving his mouth, but he couldn’t shove them back in at the time. 

“My friend from my French class--”

“Friend?!”

Marvin was slightly hurt that Trina seemed so shocked he could possibly make a new friend. Or maybe it was because the friend was Whizzer. 

“I want to actually meet him. He seems nice.”

“He is. I guess. He can be mean.”

“Perfect for you, then.”

It was beyond just calling him a friend, though. When he saw Whizzer in class he would smile. He would have a happy feeling in his chest that dripped down to his stomach. It was, he realized almost with nausea,  _ affection _ . And it didn’t stop there. They would turn to each other, their knees practically touching as they jutted out in the middle of the narrow aisle. They would talk about this and that--the new album Marvin found at the thrift store down the road, the man Whizzer  _ almost  _ slept with the night before, how Trina was doing, how critique classes were going for Whizzer, how accounting classes were going for Marvin. It was nice fragments of conversation before they were forced into repeating French phrases and numbers. 

It was an icy Thursday when Marvin actually continued said conversation after class. 

“Do you want to go to the café with me? I’m meeting Trina there.”

Whizzer looked at him like a deer in headlights. “I… wouldn’t be interrupting anything, would I?”

Marvin shook his head. He was honestly so surprised Whizzer would think to ask. He didn’t seem like the type of person to consider if he were being an intrusion. Whizzer was more of a guy who would walk into a room and demand the attention of everyone while working to overwhelm them all with his boyish charm. 

They braved the two minute walk to the café   while discussing the daily choice of attire by the professor. 

“I wanna say it’s cute. You know, she’s an old woman and all that. It’s kinda like she’s going for a vintage look, but honestly I think that she just hasn’t updated her wardrobe for 30 years. She should at least try some new colors because those greys and browns are  _ not  _ doing her any favors.”

Well, Whizzer discussed it. Marvin half-listened while mostly thinking about avoiding patches of ice and how little he really cared about their professor’s clothes. 

“You’ve never met her before, have you?” Marvin said, pointing out Trina sitting in a corner booth.

“No.” Whizzer eyed her as they walked. Marvin was sure he was taking in her makeup (subtle and flattering) and outfit (jeans with a long, patterned cardigan and t-shirt), and for a second he felt anxious. Trina was tasteful, but she didn’t belong in  _ Vogue _ . Yet Whizzer smiled. “She’s cute!”

There was no reason for Marvin to seek the approval of Whizzer regarding Trina--regarding anything. There was no reason for Marvin to be anxious. It wasn’t like the first time he introduced Trina to his parents, trying to be as proper as he could while also praying she would remember everything he told her before. He knew how couples acted by watching them. He watched as men pulled out chairs, held open doors, and took off coats. It was all fluid movements like it had all been rehearsed. Marvin always felt like he missed out on every rehearsal and was thrown into the show in the middle of the act. He could copy what he saw around him, but he couldn’t make it look believable. 

“Hi, honey!” Trina stood to kiss Marvin on the cheek. 

There was a quiet coo from Whizzer behind them. Marvin wondered if he were close enough to kick. 

“This is Whizzer,” Marvin said, pushing said man into the booth and sitting next to him. 

“Hi!” Whizzer was a bit too loud and a bit too cheery. “Marvin’s told me all about you.”

“Oh.” 

Trina smiled, but her eyes were fearful. Marvin furrowed his eyebrows. Did Trina worry what he said about her? 

“He told me that you’re smart and pretty and nice,” Whizzer said. 

Trina relaxed. “Oh thank God. I was worried it would be boy talk.”

“Well, there’s that, too.”

Trina’s eyes widened, and her smiled faded.

Marvin’s stomach dropped. He glared at Whizzer. 

“There is not,” he said. “Whizzer isn’t even enough of a boy to have those conversations.”

Whizzer was about to speak, but Marvin cut him off before he got a word out. 

“How was your day?” he asked. 

“It was alright. Nothing exciting.”

Marvin hated when he had to wring a conversation out of Trina when she decided to go into one of her moods. 

“Classes were okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah.” She perked up a bit. “Actually, we started a really interesting chapter in my child psychology class.”

And so Trina went on to talk about the development of the brain in children as they learned to speak. It went over Marvin’s head, and it was definitely all lost on Whizzer, who adopted a vacant look after only a minute. But Marvin was determined to show Whizzer how devoted he was to Trina and how much interest he took in her classes. It wasn’t like he didn’t. Deep down, he did care. It was just all hard to understand, and he sometimes had trouble listening. It wasn’t his fault. She barely understood his accounting homework. They were even. 

Marvin just had to pretend. He was sure that was what everyone else did. No one could be so happy with their partner for such long stretches of time. That would be exhausting. Like the couple across from them. The girl held her boyfriend’s hand and didn’t even pay attention to her fries going cold next to her. It was all about her boyfriend. There was no way that that was genuine. They were either faking it or so early in their relationship that they weren’t tired of each other yet. That’s not what a  _ real  _ couple looked like, Marvin was sure. Not even his parents--married for 25 years and with a nuclear family--acted like that. Marvin had learned that couples did little things every now and again to remind each other of their love. How were two people supposed to love each other continuously for 25 years? That was impossible. 

Marvin had thought it out extensively. A relationship was a series a falling in and out of love rather than one continuous marathon of passion. There would be ups and downs and a lot of lies. Not every “I love you” was meant. Not every kiss goodbye was sincere. It was a routine. Routines were done with no emotion. The emotion came when couples pinned each other down on the bed, gasping for breath and kissing each other’s bodies. It came during the moments when the universe shifted to make one the most beautiful being alive, captured in the light of the moon and indescribably intoxicating. The moments were arranged by the stars themselves. They were the ones that decided when couples should be caught in dizzying, raw love. The moments could not be forced, and they could not be anticipated. 

Marvin knew that those moments would come for him some day.

A new voice brought him back in the conversation. He realized that he accidently missed everything Trina had said, but Whizzer had apparently caught every word. 

“So, if I was dropped on my head as a kid, could that… delay anything?” he asked. 

Trina hid a laugh behind her hand. Marvin shook his head. 

“You’re laughing, but I’m serious. To this day, I can’t do simple math. I’m starting to think I have brain damage.”

“But would that explain everything else?” Marvin asked. 

“What ‘everything else?’”

“Whizzer,” Trina said after a giggle. “Get a brain scan if you’re so concerned.”

“I want to see you try to do math,” Marvin said earnestly. “Can you count? How are you with counting--”

“I’m fine with counting, okay?”

“Without your fingers?”

“Does anyone really count without their fingers?”

“Yes. Most people over the age of seven do.”

Trina snorted. Marvin grinned. Maybe one of the moments would come if they kept picking on Whizzer. 

“I never have to do math again, okay?” Whizzer said. “I don’t need to know it.”

“You’re going to have to do math at some point,” Trina said. 

“Not if I keep befriending people who are good at it.”

“Am I just a calculator to you?” Marvin asked. 

“Mostly.”

Trina stood. “I’m getting something to drink. Do you two want anything?”

Marvin unzipped his bag and pulled out his wallet. At least he could say that he treated his girlfriend most of the time. 

“Do you want anything?” Marvin asked.

“Who? Me?” Whizzer said after a moment. 

“Yeah.”

Marvin pulled a few dollars out of his wallet. Whizzer straightened up and lifted his chin. He acted like Marvin was buying him whatever he wanted from Tiffany’s rather than the cheap drinks on their school’s menu. It was a little endearing, Marvin supposed, that he took such little things seriously. He was easy to please--which Marvin had already assumed. 

“I’ll have green tea,” he said. 

Marvin handed Trina the crumpled up bills. “Black coffee?”

Trina held onto his hand a little too long and bent down to kiss him. It was unprompted and confused Marvin. They were seeing each other again in a minute. They had never been so unnecessarily affectionate since the week after they started dating. Maybe Marvin had done something that made Trina happy. He wished he would have taken notes so he could copy himself. 

“You really love each other, huh?”

Marvin turned to Whizzer. He had suddenly lost the proud posture and had a sort of far away look in his eyes. 

“Of course.”

Whizzer smiled, but it looked half-hearted. “Love is cute.”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… it’s not always so great. It’s not continuous sunshine and roses.”

“So all those poets are lying about their lovers being goddesses and their romance being made in heaven?”

“Pretty much.”

Whizzer hummed. “What about that one guy that wrote about the plums?”

“What?”

“You know. ‘Forgive me for eating your plums’ or something. He ate his wife’s plums.”

Marvin was sure that “plums” meant something else, but Whizzer’s face was perfectly straight. Were plums a euphemism? Was it slang he had missed out on? Did it mean genitalia or was it just a symbol of infidelity? Maybe “eating plums” was another way of saying that he betrayed her trust. But Marvin had never brought up cheating to Whizzer, and he was a little offended that Whizzer was suggesting it.  _ If  _ he was suggesting it. It could have nothing to do with cheating. It could be a period of celibacy. The plums could have meant doing anything besides having sex, or it could be old slang for annoying someone. Marvin could imagine a woman in the 1930s gossiping with her friend and exclaiming, “He really ate my plums!” when they began talking about her husband who brought back the wrong butter from the market. 

But that didn’t seem right. 

“I don’t understand--”

“The plums, Marvin!” Whizzer said, a little too loud. “Have you ever eaten Trina’s plums?”

“I don’t know if she has plums!” 

“She’s had to have some sort of plums in an icebox! And you’re the type of man that would eat her plums!”

“I don’t know what plums are!”

“Why don’t you know what plums are?”

The argument felt silly, but Marvin couldn’t tell if Whizzer was being serious. And he was still totally lost about the plums. 

“Are they… actual plums?” he asked. 

“What else would they be?”

“I don’t know!”

“They’re plums! They’re just… plums!  _ Les prunes. _ Why is this so hard for you?”

“I don’t know anything about any plums!”

Trina approached the table with a slow walk and cautionary look. She set a drink carrier on the table and took her seat. 

“What are you arguing about?” she asked, voice sounding almost resigned. As though she was expecting the argument from Marvin. 

“We’re not!” Whizzer said. “He just doesn’t understand what I’m trying to talk about. You’ve read that poem about the plums, right? The one where the man eats his wife’s plums from the icebox and gives some half-ass apology?”

“Yeah!” Trina smiled. “It’s by Williams.”

Marvin laid his head on the table. He still didn’t know what the plums were about. He could hear Trina start laughing again. Whizzer patted his knee under the table. He was starting to miss his two hour nap. 

“It’s just a poem, Marv,” Trina said. “I’ll show it to you later.”

Marvin sat up. Trina looked at him, hands clasped over her chest and eyes sparkling. Whizzer rested his head on his fist and wore a half-smile that was slightly smug and slightly lighthearted. With a sigh, he turned to his tea and opened the lid with a flourish of steam and grabbed a packet of sugar out of the stack piled next to the napkins. He shook it a few times before tearing off the top and laying the thin strip of white off to the side. Marvin watched the grains of sugar melt as they hit the surface of the drink. 

The scent of green tea spread through the booth. Marvin pressed his fingertips against the sleeve of his coffee cup. It wasn’t hot enough to burn him, but it was warm enough to spread heat through his hands. While he still wore his coat, he was a little cold. There was a well-known draft in the café that made long dates unbearable during the winter. But it reminded him that the holidays were fast approaching, and not even he could resist the fuzzy feelings with a school break and seeing his family in time for the final days of Hanukkah. 

Marvin looked to Trina and then to Whizzer. The conversation left giddiness glowing from their cheeks. His heart was full, and his missed nap was forgotten. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling despite being made a fool. The joy of his companions was contagious. It had to be one of the moments. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is "This is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams. It's a short, fun read if you're interested, and it's totally a poem about Williams's infidelity.
> 
> ***ALSO I know most of you readers probably don't have any money or a PayPal, but if you would like to "buy me a coffee" I have a kofi account: ko-fi.com/carlydiane I would greatly appreciate it! It would help me out a little with small expenses while I'm at school.


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